Happy Birthday Albus
by The Half Mad Muggle
Summary: It is Albus' birthday. How will the day go? MUST BE READ AFTER "HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEVERUS."


**Happy Birthday Albus**

**NB: THIS STORY MUST BE READ AFTER "HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEVERUS" OR IT WILL MAKE VERY LITTLE SENSE. :)**

_AN: Oh yes. I have never done THIS before! Mwah ha ha—I got the inspiration from the song "Tears of an Angel", the basis of my story with the same name. My farewell story, before I disappear until June 30__th__...I hope it's good! Thank you for all the views, reviews and support these past few weeks...it's been tough recently...but I hope to see you all on the other side of my exams! June 30__th__, here we come! All my love, always. SS19 x_

* * *

"Albus." He could tell, straight away, that the news was bad. The soft Scottish lilt was tinged with sadness and fear. He didn't want to hear. "Remus has come back. It was a trap. He's lost his cover." She reached out to him, "They took him."

He pushes the utensils from his desk in a fit of rage, satisfied when glass smashed and plates shattered. It was supposed to be a birthday meal. They had been sat together, just talking. Then interrupted. They needed him—they needed a Death Eater—and spy. He had begged him not to go—but, as always, his duty was more important. And then he was gone.

A trap. How Severus had warned him of this. The Dark Lord was worried; he knew he was being watched. One day he would be discovered; this was inevitable. Every day had passed—both knowing that it could be his last, and yet, they had always been mundane. Nothing special. Except today.

There, amongst the debris, still wrapped. Severus' birthday gift to his Headmaster, mentor and best friend. He always put so much thought into the birthday gift. Now it would not be opened in his presence.

He raised his shocked blue eyes to meet Minerva's. "How?"

* * *

How? How had he been so stupid? He should have seen this. But no—not until it was too late. He had also been foolish enough to save Lupin and Moody. He had caused the diversion by presenting himself. He would not forget the look in Lucius Malfoy's eyes when the truth had sunk in.

That he, Severus Snape, the Dark Lord's favourite, was the spy.

He probably deserved the curses hurled at him from several angles. He certainly deserved the handcuffs and the removal of his wand. He knew it would be nothing to what the Dark Lord would do to him. He was waiting now, like always. Waiting for the burn on his arm; on all their arms, requesting their presence. This time, he would not be attending as an advisor. He would be a prisoner, awaiting execution.

He expected to be afraid. But fear did not flicker in his heart. For some reason, his emotions were neutral—except for a soft sting of sadness. He would never see Albus' reaction to his birthday present, chosen so carefully and so perfectly. That saddened him. It was the best birthday gift of all, of that he was sure.

But just then his arm burnt viciously—and he straightened his back. He would meet, bravely, his fate.

* * *

Fate. How cruel that it should be this day, of all days. He had heard Remus' tale three times now, and yet he could not relate it. He had stopped listening when Remus had told him that Severus had caused the distraction that had saved their lives. Brave Severus—but now he would walk to his death.

"We must find him." He murmured, interrupting Remus mid-sentence. "He cannot be allowed to die."

Remus' tone was sympathetic, "Albus, he will already be dead. The moment the Dark Lord realises, that will be it."

Dumbledore shook his head vehemently, "No! He will not die. He will find a way out of this, he always does...and I will rescue him."

Minerva's tone—how he could not stand the pity—grated against his anxious nerves. "Albus...you have to accept this."

Dumbledore lost the tenuous reign on his temper, "No!" He shouted angrily, "He will not do this to me. Not on my birthday."

* * *

Birthday. He had always hated his—but Albus had changed his mind. He had helped Severus to celebrate his special day by being considerate and thoughtful, words of warm praise and a book that Severus...would never finish now.

Ironic that Albus' birthday would become his death day. He could not be allowed to spoil his mentor's day. And if it was that that kept him alive, then so be it.

He really didn't understand what the blindfold was for—humiliation, perhaps? The traditional treatment of a traitor? He almost wanted to see the Dark Lord's face—to see the shock and confusion. He wanted to see how the Dark Lord reacted to being told that he is not infallible. But Lucius had whispered in his ear that he thought it would be better to be blindfolded—Severus had yet to decide whether or not the words were sarcastic.

They had stopped walking now. The hands were released from his elbows. That meant they had arrived.

"Ah, Lucius. I assume this means I have uncovered the spy." A pause—pregnant—and his breath froze in his chest for a moment.

And then, "Well, well, this I was not expecting." The voice was neutral—close to him, now. "Severus Snape. I must admit, you never were one of the suspects..."

A hand touched his cheek. "And yet...it makes so much sense. For you...you are the only one intelligent enough to delude and deceive me." The finger became a nail, slicing through the white skin of his cheek, "But now your secret is revealed...and I will make you suffer for betraying my confidence."

* * *

Confidence—he had always had confidence in Severus and his ability to spy. But he had underestimated the desire to make Albus proud—he had leapt to defend those who were his allies but never his friends—and had put himself at risk. Surely that meant Albus should do the same? Risk his life to save Severus. His friends would advise against it—they would tell him that he was far too important, much more so than Severus Snape.

But when had that ever stopped Severus? He had told him, so many times, not to go, not to leave—and yet he had ignored his orders and done it anyway. So many times Albus had told him his importance—and yet Severus had never understood.

He had to go; he would not leave his friend to hurt.

* * *

"Hurt, Severus?" The Dark Lord's voice was sharp, like the blade of a knife. He gasped for breath as heat pounded through his veins again. There was a laugh, "I doubt you know the meaning of the word."

Apparently he was the only item on the agenda now. The Dark Lord was very angry. Rightfully. The end would not be swift; considerable torment was necessary first. He didn't remember hitting the ground—all he knew were the painful grazes on his hands and knees from where he had heavily fallen.

His mind felt clouded...but he would try to stay focused. He was, after all, highly valuable—for hostage, ransom or information.

As the Cruciatus crippled his body, he realised he was not a hostage or informant. He was a traitor; guilty of treason he would be dealt with in that way. And yet, perhaps, there was the chance of a saviour? News had would have reached his mentor by now—maybe Albus was trying to find him?

As white light obscured his vision and terrible agony exploded across his ribcage, he knew it was worth a try.

_Headmaster!_

* * *

"Headmaster!" Remus was trying very hard, but Albus would not change his mind. Severus needed his help. He had outlined their mission to the Order—namely to rescue Severus—and of course, several objections had arisen.

Too risky. Dangerous. He didn't deserve it. Wasn't worth it.

The more he listened, the more irritated he became. No wonder Severus had been so reluctant to attend these meetings; he was mocked and ridiculed! How had he not seen it before; just dismissed the concerns. Where was the famous Gryffindor pride now?

He took in a deep breath to calm himself. Time was too precious; and yet he knew they would never leave otherwise. "Listen to me. Severus Snape has spied for me for fifteen years. He is a brave man to face Lord Voldemort, knowing that one slip, one mistake, would mean his death. Unfortunately, it was not his mistake this time. He has given himself up for two of the people sat in this room; he has given himself to save your lives, and in doing so, Lord Voldemort has found out that he is my spy. He knows, full well, how the Dark Lord deals with traitors, and yet he did it anyway." He paused to steady his voice, images of a tortured Severus filling his mind. "He has been left to fight these battles alone; but no longer. I find it worrying that you will not stand to defend him in his hour of need; when he has always stood by you." The disappointment echoed in his voice, "The moment I am aware of his location, I will try to find and rescue him. It is unlikely that I can be successful alone—and yet I will no longer stand by. If you do not think that the man who spied for you and is now willing to die for you it is worth the risk...is worth the danger...or deserves the attempt—then you should not be sat in this room. Severus Snape is a hero—the most important soldier we have. I will make sure he is treated as such."

There was a long silence after he had finished. He would not look at them—right now, he could see only cowards. Every second that slipped away here was another second in which Voldemort could cause more harm. He knew that Voldemort would not be kind—and the damage that his beloved student would sustain would bring him ever closer to collapse. This was their two worst nightmares together—Severus breaking in front of the Dark Lord and releasing valuable information; Albus losing his most dear. He would not let the happen—neither nightmare would come true.

And anyway, Severus had promised that it would not happen. He would just need a little help.

Finally a voice answered, "Where is he Albus?"

But that was the question he could not answer. Where?

* * *

Where was he? Despite making him feel disorientated—or was that the fact he had been thrown around so much?—he had no idea about his location. If the Headmaster was searching for him...

Picked up like a toy doll by Voldemort's dark magic, he felt himself flung against something solid. The thud of his nine stone weight against thick brick cracked the bone in his forearm, and pain shot across his skeleton.

_Severus?_

He was going mad; had to be. There was no voice in his head. He lay stunned, hearing footsteps approach. "You're very quiet Severus, for someone in so much pain." The Dark Lord sounded triumphant—but he did not care for the words. His attention had turned inward, because there was the word again. Calling his name...

_Severus?_

* * *

Severus was not answering. No matter how hard he concentrated, there was no response. Did that mean he was dead? No, it could not be. Severus could not be dead...

_Severus?_

_

* * *

_

Severus!

No! That voice was real!

_Headmaster?_

The Dark Lord had stopped for a moment, and he allowed himself to feel the pain of his wounds. Agony washed over him, drowning his senses and numbing his reflexes. He wanted to moan, but his dignity would not allow it.

_My boy. You live. _The voice sounded so relieved.

He turned his head to one side, trying to listen for the Dark Lord, and yet wanting to focus on the sounds in his head. _For now._

_Are you hurt?_

_Yes._

_How badly? _The Headmaster's voice was unsteady, coloured with emotion.

_Superficial._ For now, they were all flesh wounds. They could be healed.

_Where are you, Severus? Tell me; I must save you._

_I don't know. I cannot see. _He responded briefly—a voice rang out above his pounding head. "You posses information that is important to me, Severus. I will claim what is rightfully mine."

_Has he taken your sight? _Anger now.

_No. A blindfold. _"Will you give that information to me willingly? I did not think so. Forcefully it is then."

_It begins, Headmaster._

_Hold on, my boy, I will rescue you._

_Hurry._

The Dark Lord was close now—he could feel the overwhelming darkness. His voice remained calm, almost pleasant. "You will beg me for death before the end, Severus Snape." He was pulled upright and slammed back against a cold surface behind it—perhaps a wall?—so he was sat upright.

"Here's how this is going to work Severus. I will ask you a question. For every incorrect answer you give, or answer that you refuse to give, I will break one of your ribs. Let's see how long you can last..." He was quietly confident in his abilities at torture—of course, he was well practiced—but he would not win. He could not break the most powerful defence of all. Hope.

Hope. At least he would give Severus that. What did he mean by "begins"? The beginning of the end? Or the beginning of the real interrogation? They were running out of time—but he could only pray that Severus found out where he was being kept...before Voldemort destroyed him first.

"First question, Severus. Listen carefully." A pause. "I want to know the location of the Order of the Phoenix. Where are their Headquarters?"

As if he would say. As much as he despised the Order, he would not betray them. "Go to Hell."

"After you, Severus." The Dark Lord responded. "You will die first. After you have told me what I wish to know. Now. I ask again. Where as the Headquarters?"

He would not answer—even if he could. The silence reigned for several moments—before Voldemort's wand rested on his chest. "Very well."

There was a crack—and then blinding agony for several seconds. He wanted to raise his hands to push Voldemort away—but the handcuffs stopped him. The agony dwindled slightly, to be replaced with a dull ache driving deep into his body. He lay still, breath coming quickly.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Voldemort muttered. "But necessary. We have all the time in the world, Severus, you and I." A hand stroked his hair. "But you can make your stay shorter by helping yourself. Who is in the Order? Name me a member."

He spat at the sound of the voice—the breaking of a second rib told him his blind aim had been good. Despite the pain he felt a flare of triumph.

"How dare you?" Voldemort demanded, dealing a swift blow of the Cruciatus. He writhed in pain. "Tell me why you turned, Severus Snape. Tell me why you betrayed me."

He paused for a moment. And then, "Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard alive."

"Oh." Spite coloured the single syllable. "You are choosing to play your cards this way? Being with the old fool has clouded your judgement, Severus. What a ridiculous statement—and lie—to make in my presence!"

"It is no lie!" Prisoner he may be—but he would defend Albus Dumbledore until the day he died. "You will not insult him!"

A snarl of rage pre-empted the cracking of yet another rib. He found his mind wandering. How long before Death claimed His prize?

_I need you...you must see..._

* * *

"You must see, Albus, that they could be anywhere! We need a hint—a clue—anything!" Remus was trying—but he had tuned out. There was something wrong. He felt...weary. Queasy. Almost nauseous. He lowered himself into a chair, resting his head in his hand.

Minerva was there quickly, "Albus? Are you ill?"

_I need you._

"No..." He whispered. "But I think Severus is hurt. We must be quicker." He breathed in deeply, "We must be quicker. He will not last much longer."

_A location. Come on, Severus..._

* * *

"Severus! Any more smart responses?" The Dark Lord laughed loudly, kicking a half unconscious body cruelly. He whimpered like a dog receiving a beating from its master—self loathing filled his veins. His foolish but passionate defence of Albus had earned him fast and brutal torture, involving Voldemort imposing the Cruciatus for minutes at a time. Broken bones, torn muscles and shredded nerves would not withstand much more of this.

"I can always enter your head, Severus. You cannot hold out for much longer." The voice was light, pleasant. He was weaving in and out of consciousness.

_Please..._

"Legilimens!"

_No! These are not yours to see._

His shields would not last. Pain seared through his brain, he tried to fight, and yet darkness was threatening him. _No. Hold on._

Voldemort could see something.

"_I suppose I ought to say happy birthday too?" Severus smiled, turning away from the door to face his friend. "You did not think I'd forget?"_

_Dumbledore returned the expression affectionately, "After all the hinting, Severus, I was hoping not."_

_Severus pulled a package from his pocket, "Happy birthday, Headmaster."_

He shook his head violently. _No! _The cry was audible too. He regained control and forced the Dark Lord from his mind with a wrench of agony.

There was a long silence. "How delicious." Voldemort murmured softly, finally. "Albus Dumbledore's birthday."

"My Lord..." The term left a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth. Pr was that blood? He was not sure. "I want so see..." He murmured.

"See, Severus? Why would you want that?"

"Surely you want me to see you triumphant, my Lord?" He was willing to _pray_ that this would work.

"True." Voldemort was considering—and then the blindfold disappeared. He was blinking up at a night sky, cloudless and yet starless too. Voldemort moved into view, kneeling down beside him, stroking the lank hair that lay against his cheek. "Your downfall is pleasing to watch, Severus. However, your abilities to deceive me have intrigued me—and for that, you have earned my respect." He gripped his chin tight between two fingers, turning his head so that their eyes met. "Unfortunately, respect is not the same as mercy. Is that what you want, Severus? Are you going to beg me for mercy?"

He stared back at him for a long moment. He wanted out. The only way he could do that was to make him angry. Angry enough to kill him.

Yet one of his words had struck an uncomfortable home.

"_Please. I'm willing to beg you...I need help. I can't do this...I need someone to listen to me...it's not right...I beg you..."_

There was only one man who would ever hear him beg. He focused his attention on Voldemort. "You are not worthy of my pleas."

That worked. Voldemort stiffened visibly. "You're a fool, Severus Snape." He grabbed the younger man by his hair, wrenching him upright. "Then again, it runs in your family, doesn't it?" He threw him down in front of headstone. A grave. He lifted his head to read the moss stained words carved into the stone.

"You'll be joining your blessed mother by the end of this evening Severus...what a reconciliation that will be!" Voldemort laughed and waved his wand, sending his writhing body back down to the ground.

_Headmaster..._

_I'm here._

_Head..._

_Concentrate, Severus. Concentrate on my voice._

_My mother..._

_What about her?_

_My mother...her grave..._

* * *

Grave. Severus was in a grave yard. He was with his mother, one of the only three people the boy had ever loved.

_I'm coming, Severus!_

_

* * *

_

Severus?

"Severus?"

_Severus!_

And yet, he was still alive. Death had not yet visited—no matter how much He wanted him to. The pain was too much for him now—it was overwhelming him. His mind felt detached, almost as if it were floating out of his tortured body. He wanted to sleep, and yet spasms were keeping him conscious. Time became immeasurable; was a second a second, or was it a minute? At times, he wondered if he had forgotten how to breathe.

"Severus. Your end is near. I can make it quicker for you; all you have to do is give me some names..."

The offer seemed attractive. Appealing. Death's void had never been so important. A place where he would not feel pain or hurt or despair...all his current companions.

But...

"_I am very proud of you, Severus Snape."_

He would never hear those words again. He had come to survive by hearing whispers of affection and pride and love.

"_One day, Severus, I promise you...you will be recognised for the hero you are."_

"_But I don't want recognition." He had replied. "I just want peace."_

"I will not..." Speaking was difficult. "...Give you...any names..." He turned to watch Voldemort. "...You lose..."

"Then I will prolong your death, Severus." He pointed his wand at him. "Sectumsempra."

Blood appeared at the slashes on his shirt. He clamped his handcuffed hands to the wound, lying deep in his muscles across his stomach, trying to staunch the red liquid oozing from the lesion. So he was going to bleed to death. And Voldemort was going to watch the life drain away.

"I am going to watch the light fade from your eyes, Severus."

Sick, sadistic bastard.

There was the sound of commotion. Voldemort turned his head to the direction of the noise, coming from a small forest slightly lower down the hillside. Before he could fully register what was happening, Voldemort had grabbed him and pulled him up. "Get on your knees." He hissed, pushing the young man down. "This will be interesting." A wand was pushed into his forehead. The strong figure behind him tensed.

He raised his eyes.

Albus Dumbledore stood only a few metres away, arms folded, robes blowing in a cool wind, eyes raging with terrible fire. "Good evening, Tom."

All around Voldemort and his prisoner were Aurors. The Dark Lord turned his head to each side, taking in the situation. As he did, Dumbledore's eyes fell on Severus, looking at the condition of his student. There was a lot of blood—he could see handcuffed hands drenched in the thick fluid, and his posture conveyed more damage beneath the skin. Black eyes settled on his for the briefest of moments.

"Very good, Severus." Voldemort conceded, "Once again, your performance was faultless. You used my own ego to your own ends; you know me too well." His voice was sarcastic. "It is a shame that it is your final act. The curtain is about to fall."

"This is where you are wrong, Tom." Dumbledore sounded angry. His voice was sharp and ice cold, "You cannot escape here."

Voldemort laughed, "You seem to have not noticed what lies—or should I say kneels—between us, Dumbledore. If any of you try to hurt me...I can do this." He only had to murmur the word of the Unforgivable Curse—Severus' reaction and cry of pain was enough. Dumbledore winced involuntarily.

"No matter how much you try to convince yourself, Albus, you will not sacrifice Severus. No matter how much he begs you, you will not risk his life. You love him too much for that." Voldemort stroked his prisoner's hair, "I hold his life in my hand. I can break it in many different ways."

Dumbledore tried not to react to the words or the way Voldemort's fingers twisted the black locks tightly—tightly enough to hurt.

_Severus, child, you need to listen to me now._

_Head...master...need to...tell..._

_It can wait._

_No! I...have to say that...I..._

_When I say, you have to run—_

_...Listen to me...not...much...time left..._

_Do not be silly, Severus, we have all the time in the world, you and I!_

_Have...to say I...love..._

_When I say, child, you have to run toward me. I will catch you, I will, I promise I will._

_...Love you._

_Don't say it, my boy. You can tell it to me later. When I say, all right? Do you understand me?_

_...Yes..._

Dumbledore straightened his back, "Unfortunately Tom, bringing you to justice is far more important than the life of one man."

Voldemort shook his head, "I don't believe you." He replied. "You won't do it. You don't have the strength."

The Aurors were motionless, waiting for their leader's command. Dumbledore pointed his wand at Voldemort. The Dark Lord let his wand rest against Severus' heart. He wrenched the younger man's head back. "Look into his eyes when he dies. Look into his eyes, Dumbledore. You cannot do it."

Dumbledore's wand hand shook.

Voldemort stole the advantage—he moved, and Severus yelled in pain. Dumbledore was confused—what had he done?

His question was answered when the sky was suddenly obscured with the shadow of a skull. In seconds, Death Eaters outnumbered the Aurors.

"And so...the trap is sprung." Voldemort grinned, tightening his grip on Severus. The younger man looked close to unconsciousness. "I must say, Dumbledore, the bait provided much entertainment. But his will not be the only death tonight."

The Death Eaters responded to their cue. Curses were hurled at the Aurors—and the fighting began. In the sudden confusion, Dumbledore saw Voldemort and Severus disappear.

* * *

"Disappearing tricks always work best with a distraction, Severus, don't you think?"

Severus moaned in response. Voldemort propped him up against his chest, looking down into a white face. "Oh dear. I think you're about to give in, Severus. What a shame that your precious Dumbledore will not be with you."

There was the snapping of a twig behind them. "Or perhaps he will be? Are you alone, Dumbledore?"

"I am."

_Just a little longer, Severus. Hold on, please._

Voldemort turned his head, "Put your wand away."

Dumbledore came into view, tucking his wand back into his pocket. "A deal, Tom." He said softly. "You are right. Severus means a huge amount to me. I will not let him die."

Voldemort nodded slowly. "He is an intriguing being." He paused, "But his loyalty lies with you alone. He is a vehement defender of your name. You are the "greatest wizard alive". His words."

_No, Severus. You are the greatest living wizard. _His eyes sparkled at his young friend. "Give him back to me. I will let you go. Just tonight."

Voldemort considered, "He will not survive the night."

"That is none of your concern." Dumbledore answered firmly. He couldn't stand the way Voldemort touched Severus as if he was some sort of pet animal! He wanted to be the one holding him close, cradling him, telling that everything was going to be all right. "Do we have a deal?"

Severus coughed, the movement clearly painful. Blood splattered his hand as he wheezed, breathing becoming difficult. Voldemort laughed; "I suppose he has no further value to me." He waved his wand, undoing Severus' handcuffs. "Consider it a birthday gift."

Dumbledore let the shadow of a smile cross his face. _Come to me, my boy, we'll get you out of here._

Voldemort pushed the prisoner away from him. Dumbledore grabbed his bloodied hands, clasping them tight in his own. He knelt opposite the younger man, not yet ready to hold him close. He looked into Severus' dark gaze, "Welcome home."

Voldemort remained in the clearing, fingering his wand. "Do you know how it feels to be betrayed, Dumbledore?" He asked, tone neutral. "Do you realise that it hurts?"

Dumbledore glanced at him, but he was too preoccupied with his student. "It's all right, Severus." He brushed his black hair back behind his ears. He looked into the dark eyes, that were infinitely sad. "What's wrong?" He asked Severus, concerned.

"It's not easy to forgive. Betrayal." Voldemort continued. "It hurts a great deal." He was still holding his wand. "Agony."

Dumbledore finally raised his gaze to Voldemort's, "What are you trying to tell me, Tom?"

"I don't forgive betrayers, Dumbledore." Voldemort replied. "It's hard because it hurts...almost like watching the one you love the most in this world die in front of you." He pointed his wand, almost lazily—and before Dumbledore could react, the curse had left his mouth.

"Avada Kedavra."

_Headmaster...I'm so sorry..._

The green light struck Severus in the back. "No!" Dumbledore cried, agonised. He watched, as if in slow motion, the lights fade from Severus' eyes, leaving dark and empty black pools. "No!" He caught the body, now limp like a rag doll, in his arms. "Severus..."

There was a harsh whisper next to his ear. "Happy birthday, Albus." Then Voldemort was gone.

Dumbledore blinked, hoping that this was just a dream. He clutched Severus closer, tears blurring his vision. He'd known. He had known that he was going to die. And in his most important moment, Albus had failed him.

"_I...have to say...I love...love you..."_

He had ignored him, tried not to hear the words, thinking that they were coming too early. He had truly believed that Voldemort would let him go. So he hadn't replied. He had not told Severus that he loved him more than anything else...in this world...

Suddenly he knew what betrayal felt like. Suddenly he understood Voldemort's anger. He felt rage and hurt and heartbreak and agony...this could not be happening...

He pressed his forehead to Severus', feeling the sobs catch in his throat. "No..."

_

* * *

_

Cover my eyes  
Cover my ears  
Tell me this is a lie...

_

* * *

_

Epilogue:

He didn't want to see anyone when he returned to Hogwarts. He did not want the pity and the apologies; neither would make him feel better. He just wanted to hide. He looked down at his sky blue robes, soaked in red stains. Tarnishes that he would never remove. Like the massive, overwhelming, immeasurable gash on his heart.

He entered his office, closing the door behind him. The light was dim; he liked this. He crossed the room and entered the ensuite bathroom. He ignored the mirror. He filled the ceramic bathtub with steaming water; probably hotter than was healthy. He stripped off, rough with his stained robes, letting them tear. There was blood on his skin too; it was under his nails and colouring his beard. It seemed to be everywhere.

He sank into the burning water, happy to feel something. He hated the numbness. When the others had found him, collapsed, crying over the lifeless doll in his arms, they had identified his condition as shock. How could a single word describe this? It was so much more than simple _shock_. It actually felt as though someone had ripped his heart from his chest with their bare hands, torn it into tiny pieces and forced it back into place. Nothing felt right; up was down, dark was light, life was...empty.

He would never see him again. He had thought he had prepared for this moment...and yet he had never accepted it. He would have to tell the students...find a new Potions Master...organise a funeral...

Funeral. They had never discussed it. Albus' yes. But never his. Death had been so unlikely...and yet they had both known it was coming. What would he like most? Burial? Severus had always hated graveyards. Cremation? Was that really a fitting end?

Violently, he ducked his head beneath the water. He needed to block out the world. Sounds were muffled here; when he opened his eyes, nothing was clear. Here he could try to forget. How long could he stay under the water? Long enough to leave this damned world behind and join his most favourite student who had died so bravely trying to light the overwhelming Darkness?

_Headmaster..._

He sat blot upright, water rippling and overflowing. The tone, sorrowful, echoed throughout his mind. But he had heard it like it was next to his ear. Like it was real.

He clambered from the bath, wrapping a lurid, too bright dressing gown around his reddened skin. At least he felt clean now. The smell of blood and death no longer infected his nostrils with every breath. He stepped back into the main part of his office, using his hand to light the room.

He walked toward the window, planning to stare aimlessly and attempt to collect his thoughts. It was a few moments before he felt the sharp pains lancing across the bottom of his bare feet. He looked down to see fresh ruby blood staining the skin. The smashed glass and china from earlier that day still lay on the carpet.

There, amongst the debris, the present wrapped in his stereotypical black. He bent down to life it from the devastation—it seemed unharmed. His eyes glanced at the clock—ten to twelve. It was still his birthday then.

He looked at the card, written in Severus' fine, elegant handwriting. _Sorry I'm so depressing. Happy birthday. Severus. _Such a simple message. Had been expecting more? A message of affection, perhaps? Not that he deserved it, of course. But no.

They had thought it would never happen.

He started to open the gift. His hands shook slightly. He seemed to have lost some muscle control these past hours. The ends of his fingers were unfeeling.

"_That's old age, Headmaster."_

"_I'll give you old age, Severus. When you are 150 years old, dear child, we shall see how you are faring."_

"_I doubt that I will live to see 50, let alone 150."_

He pulled away the spellotape and looked down at the gift. It was a quill. A grand red and gold phoenix—not Fawkes surely?—feather with a gold plated nib. It was exquisite in every sense of the word.

"_Damned quill. I need a new one. Remind me to go to Diagon Alley, Severus. I'll only forget."_

"_Of course, Headmaster."_

He smiled despite the burning behind his irises. Severus had let him forget, just so he could choose the perfect gift.

The climb chimed once.

He sat down at his desk, listening to the soft tinkle twice more, feeling time slip away between his fingers. Suddenly he grabbed a spare piece of parchment and scribbled upon it with his new quill.

_Thank you Severus._

The clock chimed five.

Six.

Seven.

The day was almost finished. Tomorrow he could start anew, with one more loss, one more shadow. One more empty space by his side.

Eight.

Nine.

Not his best birthday. For all the years he had been alive, this had been devastating. Never had he lost someone so important to him.

Ten.

On the eleventh chime, he glanced back down at the parchment.

There, in emerald green ink, an addition.

_You're welcome, most beloved Headmaster. Happy birthday Albus. Love, Severus._

The clock chimed midnight.

_

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Comments please people! I'm quite pleased with the ending, I must say. Thank you for reading, and I'll see people on 30

_th__ June 2010 with no exams, no school and hopefully some brand new, brilliant ideas! Much love, always, SeverusSnape19 xxx_


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